


Living Room

by LaSordide



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Porn, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-03 22:42:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1758771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaSordide/pseuds/LaSordide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out the Undead can still get their freak on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just something brief, written in a few moments I could snatch. I haven't written anything in quite some time, but - I've been watching In The Flesh the past few weeks and was struck by what a bizarrely sweet love story it is (or could be, given the right circumstances.) Anyway, I love the kisses the characters have exchanged (haha, more, please, BBC Three???)
> 
> Not much fic out there for this fandom yet, so I thought I'd contribute just a shred. More to come if there proves to be any interest. Thanks.

Kieren thinks, in retrospect, he probably would never have been one of the _if it feels good, do it_ crowd. Even if he’d had the same opportunities as the straight kids did in a town the size and general attitude of Roarton.

This is possibly why snogging Simon in the quiet of a rapidly dimming Sunday afternoon feels like such an incredible luxury. They’ve been kissing for an eternity – more than Kieren had even been able to in his whole young life – getting progressively more tangled up in one another as the sunlight fades from the living room.

The aging sofa creaks in the center under their combined weight when Simon moves his hand from where it’s been gently holding Ren’s jawline as they kiss, down his side and to his hip. He clutches Kieren’s jeans and drags his slim form up onto his lap, and Kieren suddenly finds himself the closest to sex he’s ever been - straddling Simon’s body, looking down into his heavily-lidded white eyes. They were blue in life; he knows this from the colored contacts Simon received from the treatment center.

He tentatively settles his weight onto Simon’s pelvis and – there it is, Simon’s erection pressing into his thigh. Oh. _Hum_. Startling, that.

And how is that even possible, how are the undead able to still get hard, or breathe, or feel emotions, even though they don’t need to eat anymore? Is it all the old autonomic functions that sill hang around, the body just going through the motions it was used to in life? There’s so much they still don’t know about PDS, like how -

“This ok, then?” Simon says softly. “Kieren?”

Kieren lets all the air he’s been holding in his lungs out in one long gasp, his hands clutching Simon by the shoulders, and refocuses his eyes. He has no idea what emotions must be playing on his face right now, for Simon to be looking back at him – so perceptively, always so surprisingly sensitive and observant of others – with such a strange mix of arousal and concern and hesitation.

“I’m ok,” Kieren says, attempting a smile. He licks his lips nervously. “Yeah, this is ok.”

Simon hasn’t moved a muscle, his hands still at Kieren’s hips. He doesn’t smile back. “Sure?” he asks. “Because you kinda checked out there for a mo.” _And your eyes are like fucking saucers, like a young deer in headlights_ , he adds privately. “We can stop if you need to.”

Kieren barks an alarmed little laugh at that idea. Simon, perplexed, knits his brow and looks at him like he’s gone crazy.

“I’m not – “ Kieren starts, and then changes his mind. He looks at Simon’s handsome, watchful face, at the contrast between his slick-backed black hair and his pallid skin and eyes, and feels a bloom of affection grow in his chest. “I didn’t get very far with this in life,” he ends up saying. “I was too freaked out by what I was, and Rick was… no better, really.” Simon raises his brows and rubs Kieren’s legs in sympathy.

“Like you said – we got a second chance,” Kieren says, leaning in to pepper Simon’s mouth with kisses. He skims his hands up inside Simon’s huge, formless jumper, slowly grazing his fingertips from the man’s strongly muscled sides to his nipples, and Simon’s eyes flutter closed as he grunts his appreciation at the touch. “And I think I’m not really willing to lose my shot again.”


	2. Chapter 2

“That said,” Simon replies, “I like that we can take our time.”

 

Kieren has no idea if this comment is relatively mundane in intent – _we’re both adults, we can do what we want now_ – or rather more bizarrely specialized to their second lives: we’re the undead, it may be that we live forever now, who knows?

 

God, Kieren’s filled with so many questions. He thinks of Amy then, of how she used to be able to just _go with it_ , do freewheeling, didn’t require a bloody treatise signed in triplicate beforehand in order to –

 

“ _Jesus_ , Kieren,” Simon interrupts.

 

Oh, God, oh, _God_ – he’s checked out again, hasn’t he? It’s his -  


“It’s my first time, Simon,” he blurts out. “It’s my first time, and I’m bloody _undead_ for it.”

 

Simon looks up at him sadly, gently drags the back of his hand over Kieren’s cheekbone. “I got it,” he says. “I know, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to – “  


“No, it’s not you, it’s not you rushing me,” Kieren insists so there’s no doubt allowed. “It’s just I’m filled with all these increasingly bizarre questions about how we’re going to do this, to be honest. Stuff I feel like, if I had any experience at all with sex in life, I might be able to answer for myself now, and instead I’m just – I’m twisting in the fucking _wind_. And it’s freaking me out.”

 

He watches Simon watch him for a few moments. Maybe he’s composing himself – another thing Kieren thinks he has no idea about, Simon always seems so composed to begin with, so with it, and maybe that’s just because he’s nine years older than Kieren, but should they even still be counting like that when it comes to Rotters, should they –

 

“Hey,” Simon says very quietly, “you know what?”

 

Kieren doesn’t know what. _Nope_. Kieren is listening harder than he ever has in his whole nineteen years right now.

 

“You don’t necessarily ever get the answers, Kieren. No matter how experienced you are.”

 

Simon lifts Kieren’s hands from his under his shirt and holds them in his lap.

 

“Can I tell you something, love?” he asks.

 

Kieren gives a quick nod. He realizes he’s breathing through his teeth and snaps his mouth shut.

 

“Full disclosure,” Simon continues, “I’ve had a lot of sex in my day.” And Kieren’s poor heart sinks a little for a second at that, they haven’t had this talk at all yet, he’s not prepared to know about all the beds Simon’s warmed in the past when he himself hasn’t, he’s never –

 

But then Simon says, “None of it really very enlightening, or good, or even what I wanted most of the time.

 

“I’ve done it mainly in exchange for drugs, truth be told,” he says, which mainly makes Kieren want to set fire to everything, scorch it, make it new and clean for Simon.

 

“But I’ve a feeling that this, what’s happening between us? This is _different_. This is different to all the other things I’ve done, no matter if I’ve physically done them before. And it’s not different just because I’m onto this strange second life, Kier,” he says, flashing Kieren a rare smile. “It’s because it’s with you. It’s with you, and it’s with all this love in my heart for you.”

 

Simon drops his gaze from Kieren’s, stares into his lap.

 

“Doesn’t really matter to me how old hat all of this may be. It’s you, and it’s love, and that sort of makes it my first time, too.”

 

Kieren is suddenly hit like a literal punch in the gut with a shot of lust combined with love so heady that the kiss he lays on Simon actually startles the man.

 

He pins Simon to the back of the sofa, and rocks forward into Simon’s lap several times until his flagging erection reawakens, staring directly into his eyes the entire time. Simon looks stunned into submission on the couch, head flung back, eyes just barely open and watching Kieren’s face as he gently sways back and forth in his lap.

 

“Christ,” Kieren says. “Jesus Christ, let’s take this to the bed.”

 

“Are you sure - ?”

 

“Shut the fuck up and get over here, Simon,” Kieren says, dragging himself off the couch.

 

“I love you.” Kieren says. “Now get your arse on the bed.”

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My boss irritated me today, and I retaliated by writing much of the following smutty smutty dirty mcsmuttiness at work (don’t look at me). 
> 
> Again: un-betaed, all mistakes are my own. Let's see how long I can draw this out, ffs.
> 
> Enjoy.

Kieren climbs backwards off of Simon’s outstretched legs, clawing his jumper and t-shirt over his head at the same time, no stopping. He’s never been naked in front of another person before. When he’d imagined this moment in the past (with Rick, or with Esme Ward from sixth form Chemistry, or, God knows, once or twice with Daniel Craig) it’d always been a slow, tentative event. A bit shy.

 

Not so now that he’s faced with the reality of Simon still sprawled out on the sofa in front of him, legs spread, hard-on making a distinct ridge at the front of his jeans, a look something like awe on his face as he takes in Kieren’s naked chest.

 

No, Kieren doesn’t want to wait a moment longer. Kieren wants his and Simon’s clothes off _post-haste_.

 

He extends his hand to Simon. “Up,” he says, pulling Simon off the couch and into his personal space. He puts his cool hands back up Simon’s shirts, helps lift them over his head, and then wraps his arms low around Simon, pulling him in close but avoiding the scar that he knows runs down his back. All just for the pleasure of feeling skin on skin.

 

And the pleasure at being close to Simon’s body is _tremendous_. The sensation is the most lovely thing Kieren has ever felt. His body is different to what Kieren had imagined under all those layers – he recognizes suddenly that he’s consistently thought of Simon as bloody huge in comparison to himself. When he’d thought of Simon naked in the past, he’d imagined someone thicker and heavier, maybe more like Rick, and not anywhere near this lean and strong.

 

This is perhaps the result of a decade of off and on (but mainly on) heroin abuse, he realizes.

 

Kieren shakes that thought off, pulls slightly out of Simon’s embrace, and concentrates on what’s in front of him: the man’s pale, taut chest, his peaked nipples, the spare lithe muscles of his belly and sides, the sparse dark hair in a V from his chest that points downward to his groin. One word comes to mind amid the onslaught of visual information Kieren’s been gathering here: _manly_. The sight of Simon’s body would probably have made Kieren’s mouth flood with saliva back when he was alive.

 

“Beautiful,” Kieren tells him.

 

Simon, for all his public insistence on _living without shame_ to the people who followed him so devotedly during his ULA days, and for all the times he’s called Kieren the same thing – Simon actually lets out a shaky, anxious breath, his eyes never leaving Kieren’s face.

 

“You were worried,” Kieren says, surprised. Simon shrugs as if to indicate: _look at what I’m working with here_.

 

“No. Don’t be. Christ, I’ve never wanted anyone so much in my life.” Kieren kisses him quickly and reaches for Simon’s belt buckle, toeing his own Vans off at the same time. Simon toes his shoes off in response as Kieren tears his own jeans and pants off, and then there they are – naked in the middle of Amy’s bungalow living room in front of each other.

 

“Holy _shit_ ,” Kieren giggles nervously, taking in their differences and similarities for the first time: nearly the same height, they fit well together when they embrace. But the only erection Kier’s ever seen before is his own, and it’s fucking fascinating to be able to explore someone else’s so freely. He cards his fingers through Simon’s pubic hair, cups his heavy sac, gently runs the back of his fingers up his cock from the shaft to the tip, retracted out of its delicate foreskin, making Simon groan.

 

Now that the moment is upon him, the questions that have been dogging Kieren for the weeks since he’s known Simon rear their heads anew. “I haven’t even gotten off once since the Rising,” he blurts. “Have you? I mean – can we, even?”

 

“Yeah,” Simon whispers. “I have, maybe four, five times, now. Just by myself, I mean, not with anyone else involved. It’s – different, a bit, now, I think, to what it was when I was alive.” Kieren’s eyes flick worriedly up to Simon’s. “I’ve got – I can come, but - there’s not much seed or anything now when it happens.” He smiles sheepishly, “I don’t know whether that’s a drawback or not. But - everything feels slower, sort of.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

 

Kieren’s got absolutely nothing for comparison, so he figures he’s all in anyway. “Let’s try it our for ourselves then, shall we?” he asks, leading Simon to the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final installment, in which I murder the Irish language. Cheers, Sordide.

The sheets on Simon’s bed are fresh when Kieren’s body hits them, redolent of lavender detergent. Kieren wonders briefly if that was on purpose – if it was something Simon had done in hope that things would progress this far when he came over today. It sends a little charge through him, thinking like that, thinking about Simon maybe fantasizing about him during the times he’s not around.

 

Kieren’s still mainly just holding him tightly around the waist, kissing his mouth and face and neck as they lay side by side, facing one another. He rubs his entire body against Simon’s, thrusts his nose into the crook of his neck and just breathes the man in.

 

That’s another thing he thinks he might miss about never having had sex as a living person – the smell of another body. The undead don’t sweat, so they’re not musky or really sexy-smelling in any regard. Simon smells pretty much like the rest of them do – like soap and shampoo and then always a little earthy, presumably from their interment in the ground.

 

Kieren wonders if they’ll ever shed that smell, but supposes it could definitely be infinitely worse.

 

“Where do you want this to go?” Simon murmurs under Kieren’s ear. He grabs a handful of Kieren’s bum, tugs him in as close as he can get, and – wow, that’s different. That’s _amazing_ , having such a huge hand knead such a private place. Simon traces the line between his ass and thigh, then strokes the thin skin behind his balls

 

Kieren closes his eyes and smiles. “I don’t even know. I just want to touch you all over,” he says.

 

This, Kieren thinks, is _peace_ – Simon’s hands and mouth and body all over him, cradling and touching him with nothing but sweetness and nurturing in mind. The past few years since his suicide have been so damaging and frightening and filled with too much bad change that the few times he’s been touched by anyone have either been violent, unbelievably clinical, or, in the case of his parents, extremely emotionally fraught. It’s been a waking nightmare, there’s no way around it.

 

But he can feel Simon’s touch healing him now. Not making the pain of the last many months go away, but making it endurable now. And perhaps adding something that will better enable Kieren to cope with any future changes, something strengthening, fortifying. Something he can depend on, and with the added boon of sheer physical pleasure.

 

Simon comes up from where he’s been kissing Kieren’s belly, cock, and legs and stretches out his entire body over Kieren, heavy and crushing and wonderful. He yanks the drawer on the little nightstand next to them open and produces a bottle of lotion – Amy’s, and patchouli of all things, but Kieren swears to himself he’s going to overlook that for now. He squeezes some of the fluid out, grasps their cocks together in his left hand, and starts to stroke.

 

“Oh. MY. _GOD_.” Kieren hollers. He scrabbles his hands into his hair and pulls at his scalp, cannot shut his mouth for the absolutely incredible shock of joy coursing through his system with every thrust. Simon’s gentle face is hovering just centimeters above him, watching, occasionally kissing the corners of his mouth, a beatific smile on his lips.

 

He can feel the orgasm well up in him after just a few short minutes, and hopes that’s ok because – there’s fuck all he can do about it now. It _is_ different. Slower, in a sense, like Simon himself described, more like a wave than a jolt. More overwhelming, but Kieren still has no idea if that’s because of physiological or emotional factors.

 

Whatever the reason, he feels his body winding up, getting ready, almost like a cloud heavy with energy right before lightning strike. He bends his legs up around Simon’s hips, feet tucked just under the curve of the other man’s ass, grabs him around his back and gasps, “Simon, _Simon SIMON?_ ”

 

“ _M’chuisle, Jesus fucking **Christ**_ ,” he hears Simon curse as he follows Kieren over.

 

 _Oblivion_. But not like death, and nothing like rabidity – instead, a heightened state of pure calm takes over Kieren’s entire system, Simon resting heavily atop him like a blanket to keep the peacefulness in. He holds Simon tightly to his chest, kisses the side of his face over and over, both of them breathing hard and starting to come down from the high of orgasm a bit.

 

When Simon pulls off just a bit to clean them up, Kieren sees he’s right – just a tiny bit of bluish-tinged semen from either of them mixed in with the lotion. So strange, but – not bad. A minor thing, given all the changes they’ve had to get used to recently.

 

Simon sees him looking at the aftermath and smiles, “Everything ok, love?”

 

“What did you call me? _Methuselah_?” Kieren asks, remembering the words Simon uttered at the moment the entire world smeared into a whirlwind for him.

 

Simon barks a laugh. “I said, _mo chuisle_.” He settles back down next to Kieren, resting his head between his body and armpit. “S’Irish. From _a chuisle mo chroi_ ,” he tells him sleepily, stroking the fine ginger down on Kieren’s chest.

 

“Oh. What’s it mean?”

 

“It means _my love_ , but – literally, it means _my pulse_ ,” Simon says, sounding a little self-conscious. “ _Pulse of my heart_ , to be exact.”

 

Kieren pulls him in tighter hearing that, puts Simon’s head directly over his quiet heart. He whispers in Simon’s ear, “ _A chuisle mo chroi._ You are the pulse of my heart,” and pulls the covers over them, cocooning them in contentment.


End file.
